While The Sun Rises
by Porcelain Prayer
Summary: One shot. McGonagall looks back to the deathday of her only son. Please review


**Title:** While the Sun Rises

**Rating:** K

**Summary:** One shot. McGonagall looks back to the death-day of her only son.

**Category: **Angst

**Disclaimer:** I'm not JK, and I'm making no money off of this.

**A/N:** I'll be honest, not my _best_ work. Just a little fic I wrote in-between Science and Math class last year. Thought I'd give it a shot here. I know theres a scene here that might seem a bit like "Love Long Forgotten" but I didn't realize it until I read that story a few days ago...Oh yes, and since Halfblood Prince came out, just pretend the murder didn't happen yet...

**Please: **Review. Feel free to let me know how you feel. I'd prefer no flames, but I do have a fireproof vest just in case. Also feel free to let me know what you thought of The Half-Blood Prince! Did anyone else cry hysterically as well?

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Systematically paralyzed from the soul out towards the eyes

What I feel I have no traction to hold or realize

Sinking into motivation-

I do not trust the things I've seen

And now these lost and found sensations want to devour me.

-The Cruxshadows

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While the sun rises, it spills colors over the cold earth, making objects and lives flow with spirit. It's has a tendency to always start off perfect- a new day. Nothing yet wrong. No complications, no conflicts, just the sun and the earth and the soft chirping of the birds. No one is ever upset when the sun rises, for there is nothing to be upset about. It's the start of the race, the end of the grief that lived the day before. The start of a new day.

McGonagall was always one to believe that.

It was something she always told her students. Mostly grumpy students eating a unhealthy meal before heading off to their first class of the day. _Keep your head up, it's the start of a new day. _Hope. That's what she believed in. Above everything else, in the deepest of problems, have hope. It's always there.

But today, today was different. There was no hope in the air as she stood in the Astronomy Tower, watching the sun rise above the mountains in the east. There was no feeling that everything would be ok. And that's because it wouldn't. It wouldn't be ok, and nothing could change that.

It had been forty years. Forty years to the day and yet it still felt like yesterday. She had been at a party. It was all she did in the sixties, and every party was the same as the last. The music, the drugs, the sex, the fighting. She couldn't remember the party before this, or the party after.

She had been drinking. Not much, but enough for her to loose her balance. Swaying and laughing, she lent against the old banister of the basement to support her weight. She was chatting half heartily with a friend- Amanda Gioander to be exact- about her current crush. A boy named Kenneth Roggers- Quidditch superstar. How she envied him...

The sweet smell of tobacco hit her while she was sipping her fourth cherry, causing her to cough. It was a few breathless moments later that she realized she couldn't stop. Amanda moved her cigarette away from Minerva just as she fell. It was only a few small steps, but in her drunken state she panicked and fell flat on her stomach.

Kenneth came over laughing to help her to her feet when he had jumped back in alarm. Minerva was smiling widely at the generosity of her crush, but stopped while seeing his face. His eyes were wide and blank, and his hand was shaking, pointing to her...

She looked down and cried in alarm. She was bleeding- badly. She reached out for Kenneth to hold her, but he stepped back, not wanting her blood to stain his new Quidditch robes. Amanda, being behind her, hadn't seen the mess, and picked her up, making her dance to a new tune that started to play. She didn't seem to notice Minerva had fainted until the song had ended.

When she awoke, she was in St. Mungo's. It was a moment of wondering why she was there when the memories came back and she cried in alarm. A curtain to her left opened, and a Healer ended, as though waiting, clip board in hand, quill behind his young ear.

"Oh, Ms. McGonagall- you've awaken," he said awkwardly. Was that sympathy on his face?

She had nodded, waiting for him to explain what happened. A few minutes went by before he brought his quill down from his ear and spoke.

"I need you to answer a few questions for me," he said looking over sadly. "Age?"

"Thirty Nine," she answered, holding her head. Damn hangover...

He scribbled something on his clipboard before placing it on her nightstand, which she noticed now, were showered with cards that looked like sympathy rather then get well soon...

"How far along were you?" he asked quietly.

"Excuse me?" she seemed confused.

"Your pregnancy ma'am. How far along were you?"

"I- I was pregnant?" she stammered. The Healer looked extremely uncomfortable now.

" Yes. Unfortunately, you lost the child after the spill on the stairs. There was nothing we could do to bring him back..."

McGonagall sat in silence for a few minutes, everything around her becoming unclear. Him? Her baby? She was pregnant? She had lost a child? When did this happen? Why didn't she know? What was happening to her?

McGonagall shook her head, snapping out of the memory. She no longer wanted it. She never had in the first place. It was perhaps the very worst thing that had happened to her. She was thirty-nine years old then, too young to understand anything about being a mother. But it hurt. And it always would.

Leaning against the window, she felt the morning air travel across her face, drying her un-cried tears. It was cool, a nice feeling. Spring would be over soon, replaced by the heat and warm air of summer. The season that would drive everything from her mind, except that of her un-born son.

She knew her time on earth was limited. Everyone knew that. But as each day went on, she felt it harder to get out of bed, to get ready, to teach. It wore her out. Her bones were old, and she could often feel age creeping on her. Many thought she was strong. Four stunning spells straight to the heart was their reason. The truth behind it was that none of the wizards really knew what they were doing. As minor as it seemed, a stunning spell was a light form of Dark Magic. It was elementary, but it had a sick meaning behind it. Asleep until someone wished for you to awoken. And Ministry wizards knew nothing of the Dark Arts.

She wished they would have never awoken her. Her time at the hospital reminded her of the day she found about her son. The feeling of not knowing why you were there when you awoke. For a moment, she had forgotten she was seventy years old and way past the age of giving birth. She felt as though she was thirty-nine again, crisp, her youth still fresh, scared, trembling...

You know.

Returning to the school after that had been even harder. All the children, all the constant reminders of her past.

She thought back to it so often, each time, the realizations all the same. If she had known about her condition, she would have been more careful. She would have realized the symptoms. She would have stopped going to the parties, stopped the drinking and occasional smoke. She would have kept herself healthy, carried the child to full term, even attempt to find the father. She would have been the proud respected woman she always wanted to be. For she had always wanted to be a mother.

When she was twenty, she had learned she was not capable of having children. Perhaps it was this that caused her to party, to become reckless, to not watch what she did. Who would have thought three of the top Healers in London could be wrong?

She didn't.

And look where it got her. Regretting her early years with each day of getting older. Wishing she could have changed the past. Wishing she would have gone back and found a soul mate, and tried to raise a family.

Living in the past never got her anywhere. What had it done? It had led her to this: leaning on an old windowsill at the earliest hours of the morning, wishing-_praying_- that she could have changed her past.

She didn't like that.

She attempted to right the wrongs she had committed earlier in life. She became a teacher, a strict Professor, who only had her student's best interests at heart. After loosing her innocent child, she protected the other innocents who had nowhere to turn too. Neville Longbottom, Miss. Granger, even Mr. Potter... the only other person she felt close to at Hogwarts besides Albus. For he had lost his parents in an innocent mistake...

"Why up so early Minerva?"

McGonagall jumped, not having heard someone enter the door she had foolishly left open. Thankfully, it was only Dumbledore. She didn't mind him being here with her. In a way- it's was just the type of thing she wanted.

He joined her at the sill, looking out into the beautiful scenery, squinting against the sun that was now steadily rising. They stood like that for a long time, neither speaking, just enjoying the other's company.

"It's not your fault," Dumbledore said after awhile, blinking as his eyes traveled to the crystal lake.

Minervia didn't know what to say. Part of her didn't expect Dumbledore to remember the anniversary of her son's death. Part of her did. Even in his aging years, he did not forget a thing.

His hand rested on her shoulder, squeezing it in a brotherly fashion.

"I know you will tire of hearing it, but there is nothing you can do. It wasn't you fault and it never will be. You can't live in your past and forget your present- your future. You can't forget to live."

Minervia blinked away a stray tear, letting it fall down her cheek and hit the ledge. The water glistened against the sun for a few minutes, before getting smaller and smaller, finally disappearing.

She sighed, filling in the silence where she knew she ought to speak. To tell him that she knew that she was being foolish. But she didn't want too. She didn't want to bring it up, didn't want to re-live it again, didn't want to remember...

"You're allowed to remember," he said quietly. She nodded, more tears falling.

"Come," he continued, steering her away from the ledge.

She followed reluctantly, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. She didn't want to remember the death of her baby boy. She didn't want to wonder everything he could have been. But she didn't want to forget about him either. He was a part of her: her family. Her child. Her son.

_Jason Michael McGonagall._

As the sun rose, McGonagall realized it was time to practice what she preached. It was time to let go. To start over. It was the start of a new day. Nothing wrong, no complications, no conflicts, no problems. A new day.

Because when the sun rises, you finally get to start over.


End file.
